Living with geniuses
by Yoshishisha
Summary: Living with geniuses is always interesting, though it can sometimes be harrowing. The Holmes matriarch can tell you as much through those drabbles depicting various moments of her observation of the genius wildlife of her home. Drabbles series during Sherlock's childhood. Chapter 2: Traipsing Mud. Chapter 3: Protectiveness. Chapter 4: Warpath. Chapter 5: Worry. Chapter 6: Crush.
1. Tying shoelaces

Sherlock Holmes was a delightful little boy; his mother would tell anyone who would believe her (and even those who wouldn't). He was resourceful, delightful, careful, and simply overall wonderful (and no, it wasn't only her motherly pride speaking). Anyone with a functioning brain could tell that, and those who couldn't? Well they were simply mistaking her little genius' quirks for faults (a common mistake for anyone who didn't have a genius at home, she was sure).

Unfortunately, Sherlock's peers didn't seem to share the same opinion as her. But it wasn't her son's fault, of course. He simply didn't feel – ah – stimulated enough by the other children (mentally speaking, obviously). And that might have led him to engage in some… not so reputable activities. In fact, his mother was the only in possession of knowledge concerning his involvement in such activities, not that she'd ever let him know about it (and yes, that included the rest of the geniuses living in the house).

Living in close quarters with three budding geniuses could be hard – and very rarely, but still sometimes, boring too – but she was delighted to see that little Sherlock Holmes brought a little bit of spirit to the house.

After all, the mother thought as she sipped her tea and watched her youngest tie his brother's shoelaces together, he could have done a lot worse than a little pranking, couldn't he?


	2. Traipsing mud

Pranking could only work for so long, she mused as she heard her youngest son traipse mud through the entrance. "Shoes," she called calmly as she turned another page of her book, not even bothering to lift her eyes in order to confirm that, yes, her baby had intended to carry that mud over to the interior of the house (even though she'd told him several times that mud was meant to stay outside, thank you very much).

Only when she heard him cross the hall did she bother to confirm her assumptions: a little bit of mud was dripping past the entrance, as if a muddy shoe had been suspended over that space, before falling back into place on the "welcome" mat (which was probably exactly what had happened, knowing the little tyke).

The same scenario was repeated several times within the week, which almost made her doubt her little boy's genius (wasn't it only fools who repeated the same actions several times, while expecting different results?), but she tried to look underneath the underneath and deduced that there was probably something else at play (she may not have been a genius, but a mother's instinct trumped any type of genius anytime).

It was only when little Sherlock Holmes came to her one day, with a carefully wrapped rectangular present, that she got an inkling as to what he had been doing with his free time. Because under the wrapping – carefully preserved – was a beautifully homemade glass-covered box containing a variety of insects mounted on special insect pins (not that she'd known that until her little boy had told her). Under each and every one of those (written in that beautiful, yet clumsy calligraphy of his) was the name, date and place of capture of the specimen, he told her.

She said nothing more and let him sit in her lap while he told her in great details of the reasons why she'd had to keep him from traipsing mud all over the place (although he described it as a minimal consequence in the name of science, not that it excused him of the basic house rules).

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**So here's the newest installment of this drabble series. **

**I'll keep this short so I'll just say my most heartfelt thanks to __****_GeorgyannWayson_****and**_****__ Filia Venatoris_ **for their wonderful reviews, as well as to __****_The Dark Lady55_****and**_****__ idlewild1_**for adding me to their favourites. It warmed my heart!**

**********Enjoy and review if you can!**


	3. Protectiveness

Young Mycroft Holmes was a protective teenager. And it was obvious to his mother's eyes that he dearly loved his younger brother, regardless of said brother's opinion. Unfortunately for him, he tended to show his love in such a way that any outside (and inside) observer would mistake it for petty jealousy or sibling rivalry (except for his mother, she knew everything).

As such, she knew that the only reason for her oldest son's apparent nastiness towards his sibling was his ill-fated attempts at protecting his younger brother, attempts rendered more difficult by the fact that Sherlock didn't seem to have a single shred of survival instinct in his being. But he tried, and succeeded, even though each attempt was punctuated by a bitter sense of resentment from her youngest towards her eldest.

So when little Sherlock Holmes complained about his latest experiment being stolen (not missing, he had told her, because Sherlock never misplaced an experiment), Mummy Holmes made no mention of having seen it in Mycroft's room, thoroughly dismantled and with parts of it placed under the microscope.

She also didn't have any reactions other than a secretive smile when she witnessed her youngest tear his hair to shreds when said experiment mysteriously reappeared in his bedroom, seemingly unscathed (he also didn't realize that any and all toxic component had been discreetly neutralized).

And if young Mycroft Holmes found his favourite plate sitting next to that special cake that positively made him melt in bliss on the dining table that very same day, well she certainly wasn't at fault, was she?

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**And today marks the appearance of a teenage Mycroft for the first time.**

**So this chapter came earlier, because I'd like to point out the fact that I put up a poll on my profile about what the Holmes patriarch should be called in the story. Please let me know whether you'd like it to be Papa Holmes, Daddy Holmes, or any names you can think of.**

**So thanks for reading, and tell me what you thought!**


	4. Warpath

Young Mycroft Holmes loved his brother, he really did, and his mother could even attest to that fact through the use of many situations she'd observed over the years as examples.

At the moment though, one would have to dig very, but very deep in order to find the tiniest glimpse of that love, for Mycroft Holmes was on the warpath. And his mother carefully made a note of sending heartfelt prayers to the soon-to-be departed soul of any and all who crossed paths with him while he was in such a state.

The cause of such anger? Well, it could be no other than little Sherlock Holmes, of course. Even his mother had to admit that, as amazingly adorable as her littlest tyke was, he did seem to possess an uncanny talent for getting under his brother's skin.

Of course, anyone with any sense of observation (and yes, she did possess some, although she didn't cultivate it to the same degree as the three male members of the household) could tell that this particular storm had been brewing for quite a while. But it seemed that, as usual, she had been the only one to feel the tension in the air; that ominous feeling of foreboding that popped up whenever one of her geniuses started a new project had been particularly difficult to shake off in the previous days.

After all, it had begun when her oldest had found his shoelaces tied together, thus leading to him being almost late to a job interview. It had simmered further when the contents of his carefully organized bookshelves had been rearranged in a nonsensical order, which made him lose precious time during his studies...

And at the moment it was blowing up, the Holmes matriarch noted as she watched the normally unflappable teenager rave and rant in front of his open wardrobe. A subtle peek inside it revealed that all the meticulously tailored suits had been replaced with variations of emo, hippie and punk rock style, which would force Mycroft to either buy more suits or wear what he considered to be "an affront to every suitable piece of clothing that ever existed".

But, in the relatively safe privacy of her mind, even she had to admit that it was quite funny to see her son lose his composure in such a spectacular way (not that any of the inhabitant of the house would ever know that, of course).

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**And we see some more of Mycroft, who seems pissed because of Sherlock's pranking spree~ :D**

**So right now, the most popular choices for me to call the Holmes patriarch are "Daddy Holmes" or by name, with one vote each. ****If you have a preference about what you'd like to call the Holmes patriarch, please do vote on my poll in order for me to know (I'm not psychic, after all).**

**And thanks to all of you visitors who have and will see this fic, in particular those of you who followed/favourited me or left a review: this fic is alive because of you, after all. So review if you've got time, and don't forget to vote!**


	5. Worry

She worried for him… Constantly… And she loved him to death, she really did, but (God help her) if he continued on like that, he would be the death of her.

Mummy Holmes let those thoughts run rampant in her head as she watched her husband work on his newest project. It wasn't that she doubted his intelligence (far from her be such thoughts), but she severely doubted his capacity to take care of himself.

She took in his bedraggled appearance, her sight roaming his face and straying upon the dark bags under his eyes before moving on to inspect his state of dress, which led her to frown as she noticed that he was still wearing his pajamas. She opened her mouth to inquire as to when was the last time he had eaten, but shut it closed without a sound as she reasoned that he probably hadn't since the previous night (he believed that eating slowed the brain down. She left the room without a sound, knowing that Daddy Holmes had never registered her presence.

Moments later saw the Holmes matriarch crossing that same door again with a hot cup of tea in her hand. She had briefly entertained the thought of making scones to accompany it, but had discarded the thought just as quickly, knowing that they would remain untouched. She sighed softly as she silently cursed whoever had told him that digestion slowed the thinking process down (funny how the same source didn't teach him that lack of sleep did the same) and simply hoped that he wouldn't transmit that particular belief to any of their children (and why did she feel as though she had just jinxed herself?).

Letting him know of her presence with an arm around his hunched shoulders and a simple peck of the lips on his brow frowned in concentration, the Holmes matriarch set the teacup in front of him. Of course, this time, she remembered to stay with a warning that she wouldn't be leaving until he'd gotten the content of it in his stomach (experience had taught her that he'd ignore it if she didn't make sure that he ingested it).

She settled herself on a chair set nearby for this exact purpose as she watched Daddy Holmes gingerly drain his teacup in order to return to his research. She observed him carefully as he began to display signs of drowsiness: droopy eyelids that needed to be rubbed ever so often, head lolling forward slowly before snapping back up in a semblance of alertness… She finally let a Mona Lisa smile spread over her features when her husband lost his fight with himself and fell asleep on his papers.

Mummy Holmes stood up and put a colourful blanket around Daddy Holmes' shoulders, before gathering anything that could serve as evidence of what she'd done.

She left the room with a secretive smile: no one would know to check the teacup…


	6. Crush

Mummy Holmes was excited. Very few people on this Earth would have been able to tell so due to her serene façade and posture, but all the signs were there. The excitation was visible in that slightly upturned corner of her lips, could be witnessed in the way she leant a bit more forward in anticipation compared to her usual reading posture… However, the biggest hint as to her excited state was the fact that her eyes couldn't seem to rest upon the page of her book for more than ten seconds before straying away towards her eldest son.

Because therein lied the cause of her excitement. Taking in her son's stiff posture on his chair, his neatly pressed suit and the not so subtle glances he seemed to throw towards the door and his watch every once in a while, Mummy Holmes couldn't help but marvel at the unusual behaviour her son was exhibiting. Because there was only one reason she could think of for his unusual demeanour (well… there were in fact several, but one in specific held her fancy) and it wasn't that ludicrous theory involving an inherent visit from the Grim Reaper, or something equally ridiculous.

And the cause of young Mycroft Holmes' nervousness had just rung the doorbell, right on time for the tea invitation Mummy Holmes had extended to both the young lady and her mother.

The Holmes matriarch hurried languidly (yes, such a thing was indeed possible) to the door, easily managing to get there before her eldest son. A quick glance behind her showed him to be frozen still, eyes glued on the entrance.

"Oh, I have missed you so, my dear!" was the first sentence spoken by the oldest visitor.

"Not as much as I have, dear friend," was the playful reply offered in response.

"I assume that you have met my daughter, Margaret, already?" said the guest, gesturing towards the young lady accompanying her.

"Of course," was the Holmes matriarch's reply. "But where are my manners, do come in," she continued as she led her guests inside.

Mummy Holmes closed the door behind them, fluidly turning towards the still frozen figure of her son. She kept fought to keep a grin from forming on her face.

"You have both been acquainted with my eldest son, Mycroft, I believe," she mentioned, stealing a glance at her friend's daughter. The girl seemed to be under the same spell as Mycroft, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

During that short lapse of time, young Mycroft Holmes had unfrozen (and it was about time, too!) in order to extend a gentlemanly hand towards the younger girl.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Margaret," he intoned as he bent down to kiss it lightly, only the barest hint of red on his cheeks betraying his sentiments.

"My feelings reflect yours, Mr Holmes," was the last words Mummy Holmes and her friend heard, before they had to eclipse themselves to the kitchen in order to gossip like the old biddies they were about their children uncharacteristic shyness around one another.

Who would have known that always-perfectly-in-control Mycroft Holmes could be defeated by a simple crush?

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**I know, I'm super late :S And for that I must apologize, but I am still unsure of when my next update will be, so I would advise to not hold your breath. For those of you interested in the reasons for my long absence, let me just say that I got a job and haven't managed to fit writing in my new schedule. And as if that wasn't enough, inspiration has been scarce for my ongoing stories, leading me to write unrelated oneshots instead.**

**Sorry for that, but I'll try to not make you wait as long for the next chapter, deal?**

**Review if you've got time, or send a PM if you've got something to say :D**

**This chapter is dedicated to _idlewild1 _who requested "Shy Mycroft". He's not exactly shy here, but I hope that having a crush is close enough ^.^**


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